


Due Reward

by EatYourSparkOut



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alien Biology, Antler Fondling, Atypical Array, Body Worship, Bottom Megatron, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, M/M, Power Imbalance, Praise Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourSparkOut/pseuds/EatYourSparkOut
Summary: Megatron is pleased, and Shockwave reaps the benefits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not enough TFA Megashock in this world?? and I aim to rectify that.

Shockwave gave his report in his usual manner—presenting a rigorous, in-depth analysis of the information he’d deemed worthy of Megatron’s concern. Due to his newly acquired position as head of Autobot intelligence, this included changes in the political climate on Cybertron, the division of funds amongst its sectors, any recent experiments or major projects being undertaken, and of course, an overview of the military strategies being enacted both on the front and behind the scenes with the express purpose of repelling the Decepticons further into space.

Unfortunately, today this also included an account of the recent skirmish on Kalis, where one of their remaining squadrons had been overwhelmed by the Autobot assault despite prior warning and preparation. Those who hadn’t been destroyed had been detained, and it was unlikely that Shockwave would be able to orchestrate the escape of more than one prisoner without drawing undue attention to himself. He would have to decide later which of the bots, if any, were important enough to the Cause to risk his discovery.

So far, it seemed unlikely.

He was meticulous in his address, loathe to think he might leave out some vital minutiae which his lord could utilize in the coming months. Some might think him overzealous, but Shockwave had always scoffed at such prattle. Megatron had made it abundantly clear in the past that he appreciated Shockwave’s assiduous approach; his comprehensive reports were indicative of the tireless work which had gone into gathering said data. They were proof of his diligence.

What was unusual in this case, was the venue. For the first time in two millennia, Shockwave wasn’t giving his report from the constraints of Autobot headquarters, but rather was standing in front of his liege, in a room from which he had long been absent.

At the moment, Megatron lounged in his throne and listened wordlessly. His questions were few and far-between, but that was standard considering the thoroughness of Shockwave’s account.

To simply be in Megatron’s proximity once again was extremely gratifying. A holoscreen wasn’t the same; it couldn’t capture the _enormity_ of his presence, nor the raw, charismatic power which he exuded—that which had always drawn bots to flock around him.

Every word captured one’s attention. Every decision assured one of his capability. Megatron’s strength was implicit in each action that he took, and to be confronted with the full force of his lord’s personality could be staggering at times.

While _aware_ of the effect, Shockwave wasn't immune to it, and he’d long ago accepted that he was as susceptible to Megatron’s charms as any other bot. And of course, Shockwave was hardly ‘any other bot’, but there were a multitude of things which he admired personally about his liege. His brutal efficiency, for one. And on the flipside, his cunning intellect, augmented by the eloquent manner of his speech. His lord was a myriad of contradictions, all of which complemented each other _exquisitely_.

Shockwave had initially followed Megatron because of his grand vision for the future, and the opportunities it would provide for the expansion of his own research. Before committing, he had taken into account Megatron’s likelihood of success—which all of his calculations had shown to be significant. Over the years that logic had morphed into a true faith, and even after all this time—the countless shared successes and failures—he remained certain that there was no other bot as well-suited to the task.  

The years of war had solidified Shockwave’s respect for his lord and his ability to endure—to thrive under duress, and achieve victory against nearly insurmountable odds. Eventually, that respect had morphed into full-blown admiration, and ultimately, the great affection which Shockwave now harbored in his spark.

Suffice to say, this opportunity to speak directly to Megatron once again—to share the same space, and bask in the approving glow of his EM field—it was nearly dizzying.

With Shockwave unable to compromise his precarious position on Cybertron such occasions were rare, and he savored each encounter all the more for it.

Shockwave had landed a major victory in his ascension to the council, and access to new and highly sensitive information had made this trip justifiable. A foolproof alibi had been concocted for his alter ego, so that he could slip away and relay the recent developments to Megatron personally. His absence would be a short one, and having handled his duties ahead of time—and given both adequate notice and excuse—he was confident that Longarm wouldn’t be missed.

As Shockwave concluded his report, he was graced with a small incline of Megatron’s helm, and a slight curve to his derma.

“You have done exceedingly well, Shockwave,” rumbled Megatron, and Shockwave relished the dulcet tones which washed over his audial receptors nearly as much as the praise itself. “Though I’m not surprised. I’d never expect anything less from you, my most loyal servant.”

Joy flared in Shockwave’s spark—a pinprick of light piercing the apathetic fog which had settled in during his years of isolation. He placed a servo over said spark as it throbbed in delight, claws curling inwards.

“I am undeserving of such extolment from you, my Lord, but it brings me great satisfaction to know that I have been of service to the cause,” he replied, and Shockwave knew that his optic glowed bright in his exhilaration. “I only hope that I can continue to serve you so faithfully in the future.”

For how many of Megatron’s servants were as unwavering as he? Shockwave was steadfastly loyal, and had achieved much—partially due to his intelligence and unique skillset, but more importantly because of his willingness to sacrifice for his success.

Wasn’t that why Megatron had picked him for this arduous mission, far from the security of Decepticon space?

Megatron hummed lowly.

“I believe whether or not you are _deserving_ , falls under my discretion,” he said, though his tone was light and there was no true reprimand behind his words. He chuckled as Shockwave’s antennae drooped slightly in chastisement. “Your devotion is indisputable Shockwave. No one would doubt the strength of your resolve, and what you’ve achieved here is commendable—especially considering the delicate nature of your assignment. I would give you the recognition you are due.”

Shockwave lowered his antennae further, in part to indicate his acceptance of Megatron’s words, but also to hide the minute trembling which had overtaken them. He knew the statement to be true, but to hear it directly from Megatron was the highest of honors.

Megatron continued, satisfied with his silent acknowledgement.

“I’m pleased to to have you among us once again, Shockwave. I know that your presence has been sorely missed in the labs. I also imagine that _you_ are relieved for this chance to relax your guard, however brief the reprieve might be,” he posited.

Shockwave was not so blindly content as to not recognize the test in Megatron’s words, and he chose his own carefully.

“Ah, Lord Megatron. I am, of course, exceedingly glad to be back in Decepticon territory, but I would not dare linger too long,” he replied. “My time among the Autobots has been trying, but ultimately rewarding, and my work is far from over. I will return to where I am needed most, as soon as time permits.”

Megatron’s smile was all denta, but there was a decidedly pleased glint to his optics. Shockwave had evidently answered well.

“I look forward to witnessing the results. This will have _dire_ ramifications for the Autobots, when our plans finally come to a fruition,” he said, and now Megatron shifted in his throne, and fixed those burning optics on him. “The future has a great deal in store for us, and your efforts will not go unnoticed,” he promised.  

Shockwave bowed, a warm glow having suffused his spark. Yes, this trip had most _certainly_ been worth it.

When he stretched up again, he half-expected to be dismissed, but instead Megatron looked upon him with consideration.

“How long has it been since we’ve had the opportunity to talk at length, Shockwave?” he asked.

“Quite some time, my liege,” answered Shockwave, with a glimmer of hope. He had missed their conversations—held outside the formalities of station and rank, and often extending late into the night cycle. Perhaps Megatron had as well. They’d always been well-suited for each other, when it came to genuine conversation and debate, though Shockwave wasn’t near the orator that Megatron was.

“You aren’t expected anywhere, I take it? And your habsuite is hardly going anywhere,” mused Megatron, as he tapped his fingers against his throne. He seemed to come to a decision.

“Join me.”

With that he descended smoothly from his throne, and began the walk towards his private quarters.

Shockwave trailed after him, anticipation curling within. He wouldn’t dare _presume_ —but he could hope.


	2. Chapter 2

The inside of Megatron’s habsuite had changed little, still as lavish and elegant as the first time Shockwave had laid optic upon it. Today as he followed Megatron’s lead, that optic lingered on the plush berth in the center, and the memories which arose unbidden caused a shiver to run across his plating.

He was guided to the corner of the room, where two equally comfortable chairs sat beside a small table—a venue Shockwave was intimately familiar with. Many nights had been spent here, conversation fueled by engex and the strategy games they both excelled at.

Shockwave sunk into his chair with a small, satisfied sound, as Megatron made his way to where he kept his private store of engex. He had never been disappointed by a selection—it was glaringly obvious to any bot who spent some time in his company that Megatron had fine tastes.

When the cube was placed in front of him, and Megatron settled into his own chair, Shockwave hesitated for the first time.

Megatron had an intake, but for Shockwave refueling had always been more of a private matter. Not all bots were comfortable around older, atypical builds such as himself, or their many quirks.

The uncertainty was quickly forced aside; Shockwave had fueled in front of Megatron countless times before, and simply because their camaraderie had grown rusty in his absence didn’t mean that the awkwardness had to linger.

He triggered the command to open a specialized port in his throat plating—allowed the proboscis to extend and sample the proffered energon—and true to form, Megatron didn’t bat an optic.  

He had chosen well, of course, and even with his limited sense of taste, Shockwave greatly appreciated his attentiveness, for Megatron had picked something he knew would suit his personal preferences nonetheless. Shockwave’s palette ran towards tart selections **,** and the engex provided precisely that—the zest of the concoction delivering a sharp jolt directly to his underclocked systems.

When Megatron inquired as to whether Shockwave was amenable to a game of Tadek, he gladly acquiesced.

The conversation began stilted and tentative from years of neglect, but Shockwave’s frustration was not for long, and soon they lapsed into familiar patterns. A discussion of Vok poetry turned quickly to debate over the merits of Kalkar literature. Megatron was no fan of organics, but he did not so readily dismiss the works which arose from their civilizations—too invested in the intricacies of prose, and the power which it held. Following that, the segue into Cybertronian music—and the compositions which had emerged during the course of the war—was almost relaxing.

Shockwave broached the topic of research, inquiring as to how things fared on the scientific front without him to further its endeavors. Directing such efforts had always been his forte, but he had been out of the loop for some time—too preoccupied with exerting his influence over Cybertron.

“Has Blackarachnia been.. _satisfactory_ in my stead?” he inquired, derision not entirely concealed beneath false courtesy. Few bots offended Shockwave personally, but he had yet to find one whom he believed as capable and exacting as himself—and was therefore automatically disinclined to approve of his replacement.

Megatron chuckled, and took another sip of his engex. He was on his third glass by now, though the only tells were the way the temperature in the room had climbed several degrees, and the rising familiarity with which he addressed Shockwave.

“She’s not you,” he admitted, “but she does show great potential. The acquisition of her into our ranks was a timely one, especially in lieu of your long absences.” Megatron hummed, tapping his finger against the game board in consideration. “She’ll have to be watched carefully, but I do believe that with her ambition and ingenuity we’ll be able to accomplish a great deal in the coming years.”

Shockwave tempered the jealousy which crept into the edges of his processor. Such feelings had no place here. It was illogical, to resent something—someone—who would further their cause.

He might not appreciate Blackarachnia’s rise in the ranks—and none could truly live up to his standards—but he begrudgingly accepted that she was a fine scientist in her own right. _Incapable_ , was certainly not an adjective he would use to describe her, and he did confess to some curiosity regarding her projects—interests and areas of focus so unlike his own.

“I would always value your input, should you wish to review her recent proposals,” offered Megatron.

Shockwaves antennae perked up immediately. He had been so focused on intelligence as of late that he had sorely neglected his involvement in other sectors. He had new priorities after all. But oh, did he miss the satisfaction of discovery, and the comforting familiarity of a laboratory.

“I will look into her projects as soon as I have the time and security to do so,” he promised. _As well as keep an optic on her extracurricular activities_ , he added silently.  

Blackarachnia’s aspirations ran beyond that which she could gain in decepticon employ. She was dangerous, and Shockwave would be remiss to underestimate her.

Once again, he lamented that he couldn't be by Megatron's side. With enemies so numerous—and some far too close to home for comfort—Shockwave would need to be extra vigilant from afar in order to assure his lord’s well-being.

It was when the game was well underway—with Megatron holding a slight advantage, and engex having loosened both the atmosphere and their glossa—that conversation turned back to matters concerning his recent victory.

A sly smile crept across Megatron’s face, as he opened his mouth to ask a rather unexpected question.

“Tell me Shockwave, do you think you deserve a reward?”

Shockwave stilled, his optic widening imperceptibly. In any other situation he might consider the question a potential trap—a test of his discipline—but a heady atmosphere had taken hold of the room, and static crawled across his antennae in response.

“M—my lord?” he asked, vocalizer betraying the cracks in his composure.

“Your work has been nothing short of exemplary, and you’re not ignorant of that fact,” mused Megatron. “In particular, that operation on Velocitron was carried out flawlessly, and this recent success is a matter of grand celebration,” he continued.

Shockwave tried not to squirm under his lord’s lazy scrutiny.

It didn’t appear as though Megatron wished Shockwave to interrupt, and so he withheld his burning curiosity as to why this route of questioning had been chosen, in favor of gripping the game he held piece tighter in his claws.

“Your ongoing mission is hardly an easy one, and though you hide it well I know it vexes you to be so far removed from command,” acknowledged Megatron. “Isolation has always suited you, but to be surrounded by our enemies at every turn isn’t an enviable position.”

Shockwave cleared the interference from his vocalizer.

“Thank you, my liege, but it wouldn't be my place to demand... recompense. I merely wish to fulfill my duty, for the glory of our empire,” he assured him.

Megatron looked upon him with increasingly amused optics. Meanwhile, the piece had begun to strain under the pressure of Shockwave’s grip.

After a few moments, Megatron’s engine rumbled in agreement.

“Yes, that's true. You had little choice, but nonetheless, you agreed with... admirable enthusiasm.” Megatron leaned back in his chair, optics dimming slightly. “This assignment fell to you Shockwave, because you had both the intellectual acumen and resourcefulness required to carry it out, and you have born it with dignity—as one would expect.”

Shockwaves spark swelled further, a great sense of pride—and no small amount of gratefulness—warming his circuits. An undercurrent of anticipation had seized his frame, and refused to let go. It prickled at the back of his processor, insisting that something more was to come.

“And yet,” continued Megatron. “You operate largely from the shadows, your work unnoticed by those which it benefits most. It would not be remiss of you to desire acknowledgement from time to time.”

Shockwave was now certain he knew where this was headed, but he replied carefully nonetheless—to ruin this opportunity would assuredly ruin _him_. He did not wish to stew in disappointment for the remainder of his stay, when so much more was being dangled just within his reach.

Megatron had always liked to tease.  

“I would not presume to expect such things, my liege, though I am grateful to receive them,” he demurred. “However, I don't much care for the opinions of other bots. It is only _your_ approval which holds any weight, or which brings me any such satisfaction.”

Megatron let loose a short bark of laughter, likely surprised by Shockwave’s stark reply. He wasn’t usually so direct.

“You never ask for anything, my most loyal servant. Not recognition, and not praise—unlike _some_ bots we know, who will remain nameless for fear of spoiling the evening. But you see, I _do_ believe that you deserve a reward.”

The smile which had crept across Megatron’s face might have made Shockwave’s joints weak, had he not had the support of the unreasonably comfortable chair.

“Do you still find me attractive, Shockwave?”

The question caused Shockwave to start, his frame freezing taut as his helm swiveled to meet his lord’s optics. Judging by the wicked slant to Megatron’s derma, he knew _exactly_ what he asked, and all of its complicated nuance.

The piece finally broke beneath Shockwave’s claws, unable to bear the pressure any longer.

Megatron laughed, and waved away the beginnings of Shockwave's apology.

For another bot, a _lesser_ bot—and now Shockwave’s processor helpfully provided the image of Starscream simpering at Megatron’s pedes—the question might have been dangerous, but Shockwave recognized the offer for what it was.

“You are _magnificent_ ,” he breathed, not bothering to hide the longing in his voice.

Megatron crooked his fingers, beckoning Shockwave towards him, and Shockwave did his best not to scramble—to appear clumsy or desperate in his haste—however the lightning pace at which he moved spared little of his dignity. He clipped the table with his hip on the way, but fortunately nothing was disturbed—sparing him further embarrassment.

Megatron huffed a laugh, even as he patted his thighs and summoned Shockwave to the sanctity of his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //waggles eyebrows


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for the update to take so long?? but I fear that I've been consumed by warframe. Whoops.
> 
> On the bright side, I accidentally wrote a lot more than expected, so this fic is now 4 chapters instead of 3.

Shockwave’s antennae were quivering in anticipation, and a languid heat had already begun to pool in his midsection as he settled himself against Megatron’s comforting bulk. It had been a long time, and how Shockwave had _ached_ for this during those lonely nights on Cybertron—to have the full magnitude of his liege’s attention directed at him.

This was a familiar position, if one that had been long neglected in the years of absence his assignment lent itself to. Shockwave knew the optimal way to angle himself in order to ensure maximum contact between their plating, while still allowing adequate room for movement, and in the end they ended up chest to chest, their pelvic armor fitting together snugly. The chair was large, and provided enough support for Shockwave to lock his thighs around Megatron’s waist—wedging his knee joints in the space between.

Megatron leaned back in the chair, comfortable and unconcerned with appearances, and Shockwave took the chance to admire the entirety of the powerful frame before him. The blunt elegance of Megatron’s construction.

“Allow me to show you the extent of my own appreciation,” murmured Megatron, even as his engine rumbled approvingly. The vibrations traveled across their joined armor, assaulting Shockwave’s sensors with the pure, unadulterated power of a warframe. There was a familiar, intimate weight behind the rising heat, and his field drank it up eagerly.

Shockwave was slow to arousal. He was old—older than Megatron, who was actually a rather young mech, all things considered. Everything functioned properly, but finding _incentive_ was another matter.

There was little that stirred his interest, ~~a flash of blue in the back of his processor quickly squashed~~ though he earnestly recalled the few times he had lay in his berth on Cybertron and stroked himself to completion, his lord’s name voiced brokenly in the dead of night.

Now, his frame responded subconsciously to old queues, as yearning became reality once more. Megatron’s engine rumbled again, and Shockwave arched in his hold as the sensation vibrated through his array and crawled into his very spark.

“I hope you know, that I find you just as striking,” said Megatron, after Shockwave had recovered enough to parse his words. His entire sensornet was abuzz, small currents running along his seams and teasing his circuitry.

And yes, Shockwave was slow to arousal—this was well established, hadn’t changed—but Megatron’s praise went straight to his processor; it left him floundering in a hazy cloud of mindless fulfillment which was easily manipulated into something more. In this context, it went straight to his array as well, igniting a dull flame behind his covers. His connections had begun to stir in interest, and a dull throb had overtaken his port.

Shockwave knew that he was unremarkable, or at the very least, not especially attractive. He’d never turned optics—not like Megatron—and bots finding him _unsettling_ was more par for the course.  Nonetheless, he appreciated the sentiment—the _intent_ behind the words. And of course, he refrained from giving voice to his doubt, lest he offend his liege.

Nothing slipped by Megatron, however.

“You don’t believe me,” he mused. “What have we come to, for even the most loyal of my servants to question my judgement, hm?”

No irritation had surfaced in Megatron’s field. In fact, that teasing edge had grown stronger than ever, and it cut through Shockwave’s reservations like a hot knife. He risked humming noncommittally in response as his claws tightened against the armrests of the chair.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to convince you then,” concluded Megatron, and though his tone was light, his optics pierced straight to Shockwave’s spark. “ _Reaffirm_ your faith in me.”

Had Shockwave a mouth, it would have gone dry. Any response he might have dragged from his stuttering vocalizer was lost as Megatron set out to conquer his frame with his usual tenacity.

Like most warbuilds, Shockwave wasn't prone to incredible sensation; the armor dulled pleasure as much as pain, and his frame was utilitarian, with little ornament to take advantage of. However, he did have a few weak points simply waiting to be sought out—where even the brush of a servo would register all the more intensely.

Megatron remembered. More importantly, he _knew_ , and didn’t bother with gentle. His touch was firm— _thorough_ —and sparks rose to meet the fingers which raked across stubborn plating. His servos mapped out Shockwave’s chassis, dipping into hidden grooves and gradually coaxing reactions from his impenetrable frame.

When Megatron pried his way underneath his treads, Shockwave gasped lowly, and received a chuckle in return. His lord’s fingers were generous, and rough, and absolutely _perfect_. They exerted the optimal amount of pressure against his rubber, scraped unforgivingly across forgotten sensors. And when Megatron wrapped his fingers around the edge and _squeezed_ he shuddered, antennae vibrating as the sensation danced along his wires.

A moan was wrung from him as those same fingers ventured inside one of his lights to trace the rim, and then proceeded to stroke the fervently glowing glass.

They had played this game countless times before. Megatron liked to break Shockwave down, bit by bit, until he crumbled beneath his servos—until Shockwave swayed like a directionless marionette in his grasp, and a gentle tug of the strings was all it took to bend him.

Already Shockwave could feel the miasma of blissful complacence which came over him in times like this encroaching on his processor, the fog blanketing his neural pathways and dulling all but the swell of his lord’s approval.

Megatron’s field was thick with appreciation for the way he trembled, and Shockwave ached to return his generosity. To slip his own claws beneath loosened armor, and pluck at the taut wires beneath.

“My liege,” he began, despite the weakness that had taken root in his vocalizer. “Do you have any further instruction for me?”

Megatron hummed. He wrapped a sturdy arm around Shockwave’s waist, and he could almost feel the phantom hum of the now-absent canon. Megatron pulled him closer, making sure to press the searing heat of his pelvic armor against Shockwave’s own. He moaned faintly.

“I would have you _exactly_ as you are, Shockwave.”

His designation dripped from Megatron’s honeyed glossa in such a way that his tremors surged with renewed ferocity.

“ _Reciprocation_ will not be necessary for the time being,” finished Megatron.

And then finally— _finally_ —Megatron ventured farther up, to where all of the delicious sensory feedback of the past few minutes had coalesced. His fingers slid up and curled around one of Shockwave’s antennae, sensor-laden sites simply brimming with anticipation.

Shockwave was loathe to call his noise a whimper, but it hardly mattered with the way he collapsed into Megatron’s chest—practically melting against the solid surface provided for him.

Megatron caressed the appendage lightly, tracing down the length of it, and then pulling off so that the tips of his claws dragged against the delicate surface. Shockwave felt every minute shift keenly, was doused in liquid heat as it perceived the amorous intent and sent the appropriate feedback to his frame. Each time the servo return to ghost across the surface he craned into it, seeking the gratification which remained just out of reach.

Shockwave knew that his vocalizations hadn’t ceased—that he was still allowing a shocking number of breathless noises to escape unheeded—but he couldn't bring himself to care. Megatron enjoyed him like this, and who was Shockwave to disobey?

The first broken moan was dragged from him when Megatron began rubbing rhythmically. After the relentless teasing, this first _firm_ contact was rapture. It morphed into long, thorough strokes which ignited every neural circuit in their path.

Another servo, another antenna, and under siege on two fronts Shockwave had no defense.

He sank further into the embrace, and the things which passed his vocalizer were scarcely coherent—murmured pleas, and exhalations which aimed to express his undying gratitude. Each modicum of relief left him further beholden.

“Louder, Shockwave,” commanded Megatron, and his derma curved into a slight smirk. “So that even the _Autobots_ might hear it”.

He was dark amusement, with a voice like silk-wrapped steel, and he’d obviously anticipated the reaction his suggestion would produce for he met Shockwave’s suddenly errant hips with a slow grind of his own.

Shockwave obeyed—his next vocalization at a decibel he thought prudent—and was rewarded for it. Each of his groans triggered another deliberate squeeze of his antennae, and he basked in the molten pleasure which swelled and swelled, bubbling up in his spark and spilling over into the rest of his frame.

Shockwave soon fell into a haze where time was meaningless. How long he hovered in that space while Megatron rubbed euphoric relief into his antennae he didn’t know, but he dimmed his optics and savored the soft velvet of Megatron’s voice against his audials.

Eventually, Megatron caught the tip of one of his sensory prongs between forefinger and thumb. He gave it an experimental tweak, and Shockwave gasped brokenly as the sensation registered. A sharp stab of pleasure, as though someone had slipped a knife into his midsection and _twisted_.

“Oh, please— _please_ my Lord.” Shockwave was reduced to begging as his connectors squirmed almost painfully behind his panel, desperate for stimulation or release.

“Please _what_ , Shockwave?” asked Megatron, deceptively calm and pleasant, as though Shockwave weren’t quivering on the edge of overload. “This is _your_ reward. You merely have to ask, and I will grant what is within my power.” It was cruel to tease at a time like this, and Shockwave loved him for it.

He struggled to form a response, and his vocalizer crackled as Megatron slid a servo under his helm—tilting it upwards so that he could see the desperation in Shockwave’s optic.

“Do you require something from your lord?”

“Allow me to overload,” managed Shockwave, but it was empty and weak. “I beg of you.”

The telling waver must have pleased Megatron, who chuckled.

“Very well. I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Scarcely had the words left Megatron’s lips before Shockwave was bowing in overload. The servos had tightened around his antennae in a decadent squeeze, and his liege’s permission was all that it took to tip him over that blissful precipice. He arched into Megatron’s hold as the heat which had building within him for so long finally burst—a star going supernova in a final surge of energy.

When Shockwave had finally recovered, he collapsed limply against Megatron’s armor, thoroughly spent.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“No need to thank me just yet,” rumbled Megatron, as he readjusted Shockwave in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. “You didn’t think that was all, did you? Hardly a reward befitting one who has been so steadfastly loyal—so successful in his endeavors.”

Shockwave couldn’t see it, but knew that a self-assured grin was currently stretched across Megatron’s face.

“Besides,” purred Megatron, “you wouldn’t leave your lord _unsatisfied_ , would you Shockwave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer I work on this the more I feel like I'm writing a bad romance novel, but Shockwave is just. He's very, very gay and and I can't help it. He's wrestling the doc away from me. He's Too Strong. 
> 
> And to be fair I think most people are a little bit enamored with TFA Megatron ;3
> 
> I always forget to do this, but I've got TF tumblrs @spidingsadly and @eat-your-spark-out if anyone wants to see what I'm up to between projects!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick spaghetti to forget your regretti

Shockwave’s vents caught briefly. Behind his panel, there was a desperate squirming sensation—an exquisite prickling which insisted upon _release_. His panels had cracked open, and beneath them his connectors strained to find their way free.

To his dismay—and mortification—he quickly lost the battle, and soon the wires were spilling out across their laps.

Megatron snorted fondly.

“You kept the older model,” he remarked, with some surprise.

Shockwave fought down his pang of disappointment. It _had_ been a long time after all. Megatron had evidently upgraded his own equipment in the meantime, no doubt eager to escape the reminder of their past station—to level the playing field, so to speak. He wouldn’t deign to have anything less than the Autobots.

Likely, he had expected Shockwave to be at the forefront of such innovations, but Shockwave had always found his own equipment more than adequate. His interfacing prospects were slim to begin with, and he was seldom inclined to seek them out.  Rehauling his entire interface system had seemed unnecessary—a waste.

Now he feared he had made an error. To disappoint Megatron was unacceptable.

Shockwave reared back, so that he might look him in the optics once again.

“My lord, I am sorry if I have displeased you—”

Megatron shook his helm, and held up a servo to stop the apology in its tracks.

“I didn’t say that. I’m not displeased, merely… surprised,” he said. He lowered the servo again, this time into the writhing mass of wires which had begun to creep forward and explore his pelvic armor.

Shockwave didn’t have enough autonomous control to overpower their desire to advance and seek a connection point, and they twined around Megatron’s fingers restlessly. He could only clutch helplessly at Megatron’s shoulder as the tactile stimulation rocketed through his frame, seizing him by the spark.

“And there _is_ something to be said about familiarity and experience,” added Megatron lowly, as he glanced down at the enthusiastic connectors attempting to worm their way beneath his plating. “If you would indulge me in a little _experiment_ , I believe we can come to a compromise.”

And with that, the panel covering his valve slid open—the sound deafening in the face of Shockwave’s surprise.

He stilled, optic brightening. One of his still-recovering antennae managed a weak twitch. He hadn’t expected Megatron’s spike to be easily compatible with his port—the opening designed for the transfer of charge and data through wires like his own—but neither had he expected _this_.

The offer was more appealing than he could ever put to words.

“My liege?” he asked uncertainly, needing desperately to confirm, lest he was being presumptuous in his desire.

Megatron didn’t answer with words, but drew the servo wrapped in connectors closer to his valve. The edge was slick and hot—utterly alien to Shockwave, who had only textbook knowledge of the upgrades and no firsthand experience. His tendrils however, began to abandon their current target in favor of the source.

“You please me _very_ much, Shockwave,” murmured Megatron, and the praise was dizzying.

A few wires snaked inside, and Shockwave was immediately overwhelmed. Their equipment hadn’t been designed for one another, but they came together magnificently all the same. Shockwaves tendrils were confused, seeking the pathways which they would normally worm inside of and lock into. Instead, they trailed across the rippling mesh walls, flexing calipers, and protruding nodes with ravenous curiosity.

The warm, wet interior incited charge that could never have been produced otherwise; there were sparks where the ends of his connectors met streams of hot lubricant, and each shock of unexpected pleasure encouraged the tendrils to venture forth in earnest.  

More and more of the wires joined the fray, squeezing alongside until Megatron’s valve was snug around the mass. Even more nudged at the entrance, attempting to squeeze past the mounting resistance. Megatron tensed briefly, but groaned his approval as they were successful, and Shockwave marveled at the _stretch_ which this upgrade allowed.

Megatrons valve tightened around him, and Shockwave nearly whimpered. The heat, the pressure—it was too much and not at all what he was used to. His connectors responded eagerly in his stead, still seeking out contact points for which to latch onto. Each individual cable generated charge, but with nowhere to go the energy gathered at the tips of his plugs, buzzing lightly against the valve walls and eliciting small groans from Megatron.

The nodes were a temptation. Tendrils wrapped around the raised surfaces—encircled them and squeezed—and Megatron moaned low in his throat. His fingers dug into Shockwaves plating; they left dents that he would be loathe to remove for at least a couple of days—a reminder.

“Yes,” rasped Megatron. “ _Exactly_ , like that.”

Shockwave ceased all attempts to restrain himself, and before long even more of his connectors were stuffing Megatrons valve with a single-minded determinedness. They continued to seek out that which they wouldn’t—couldn’t—find, and in the process brought the both of them to the precipice in record time.

Shockwave’s thighs trembled; he pressed closer in his desperation and the tendrils stretched farther, brushing against the back of Megatron’s valve. There must have been a particularly sensitive node there, for the squirming exploration of this new area elicited a sharp intake, and then an unsteady exhalation.

“It appears that we are still _quite_ compatible,” laughed Megatron, a little breathlessly. Then he was shifting, and Shockwave had to latch onto his shoulder in order to keep his balance.

A warm servo planted itself on Shockwave’s back to support him, and he wrapped his legs tighter as Megatron arose with ease. He marveled at how little effort it took him to stand; should he attempt the same, he was sure his stabilizers would give out from beneath him.

Megatron kept them seamlessly connected as he reversed their positions, and then Shockwave was looking up at his lord, the plush back of the chair his new support. His cables wriggled in ecstasy, uncoordinated and thrown off by the movement.

Shockwave rallied himself. He nudged a command towards the wires, which coiled around one another—wrapping into a firm, textured simulacrum of the spike which he didn’t have. Megatron’s weight on him was immensely pleasing, as was the feeling of being restrained and entirely at his mercy.

“Are you still jealous?” asked Megatron, causing Shockwave to start in guilty surprise. Obviously his feelings were more transparent than he’d previously believed. “ _Blackarachnia_ doesn’t receive this pleasure, after all.”

Triumph flickered in Shockwave’s spark, and while he acknowledged his pettiness, he made no effort to correct it. His lord’s favor remained with him; that was all that mattered.

Megatron’s spike had pressurized, and while Shockwave found himself slightly disappointed at the loss of the old equipment—from which he had derived such pleasure—he admitted that the new was just as impressive.

Not that he had expected anything less from Megatron.

Shockwave took the time even in his pleasant stupor to study the replacement. Grey plating with black accents and red biolights made for an aesthetically pleasing picture, and the blunted ridges intrigued Shockwave, though also conjured up a small degree of trepidation. He was out of his element—having little knowledge regarding cross-model interface. Precautions would be necessary. And _practice._

Should it fit, the spike would certainly feel divine driving into Shockwave’s port. Valves were mesh, but the walls of his equivalent consisted of braided wires, and the spike would split them apart easily—would drag teasingly across the countless connection points. His port would be left wanting for a linkup which would never come, receiving only maddening charge and sensation with no conduit for which to escape.

Shockwave’s hips jerked helplessly at the thought. The idea had merit. The damage could always be repaired later.

Megatron ground down into the movement, again and again until Shockwave tensed and gripped the armrests of the chair. He could only hold on as Megatron rode him—as he took his pleasure from Shockwave’s compliant frame, and received reverent gasps of his name in return.

And it was like that, with the perfection of his lord’s frame above him, and a snug, warm grip on his blissfully confused connectors, that Shockwave achieved overload once more. The torrid whirlpool of pleasure which had been swirling inside his midsection broke free to wash across the rest of his frame, and he was vocal in his appreciation

Megatron reached his own overload shortly after, triggered by the discharge of sparks from the ends of Shockwave’s tendrils. His valve clamped down like a vice, only heightening Shockwave’s ecstasy.

The splatter of what he assumed was transfluid across his chest armor was unexpected, and his initial reaction was mild disgust, but the notion of being marked by Megatron won out, and he begrudgingly admitted that it held... _some_ appeal.

Shockwave collapsed. His lanky limbs—already inconvenient at times—were now _extremely_ unwieldy, and he tried to regain some semblance of control over his frame. Minute shivers crawled across his plating in the afterglow, the experience overwhelming, as always.

Shockwave felt used. He felt _appreciated_. Above all, the intimacy of these encounters left him reeling with the notion that Megatron trusted him so thoroughly. He leaned his helm against the plating before him, and sighed softly.

Megatron chuckled.

“All that time among the Autobots isn’t affecting you too much, I hope. I wouldn’t have their influence turning you _soft_ ,” he chastised, but the teasing edge took any of the bite from his words.

Nonetheless, indignation crept into Shockwave’s field, and he jerked his head back to look at Megatron.

“Preposterous!”

Megatron continued to chuckle as he disconnected their arrays, and Shockwave winced at the sensitivity of his own equipment, unaccustomed to this level of use. Megatron pulled a cleaning cloth from his subspace, and began wiping the foreign fluids from his tendrils, which twitched weakly under the attention.

“H—aah, please my lord. I’m much too sensitive,” begged Shockwave, though without any real conviction. Megatron could—and would—do as he wished.  

“I know.”

Two overloads was enough for Shockwave; they had worn out his frame with their intensity, and if he had been younger he might have endured another without complaint, but now the continued stimulation bordered on uncomfortable.

Megatron absently rubbed and fondled the wires as he worked. Shockwave continued to give half-hearted pleas for him to desist, but soon enough he was crying out once more, frame convulsing in ecstasy and pain alike.

When he onlined again, Megatron had finished cleaning them, and Shockwave’s equipment had tucked itself back behind its panel. There was a small, knowing smile on his lord’s face.

“I’ve missed you, Shockwave,” he admitted. “You are... irreplaceable.”

Shockwave’s spark blazed.

Soon he would be back on Cybertron, immersed in his tireless work, but for now—for now, he had this, and he planned to savor it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I _will kiss Blackarachnia instead Shockwave.__  
>  __  
> Aaand that's a wrap! I hope you all enjoyed~  
>   
>  I've got a couple new projects in the works, so stay tuned ^^  
> 


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